Oh the Drabbles You'll Write
by alyssialui
Summary: A five-part drabble collection for Hogwarts Fair 2014 Challenge/Competition, featuring Harry, Hagrid, Filch, Crookshanks.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This is a drabble collection for _**Hogwarts Fair 2014 Challenge/Competition**** - Mini Golf Game. **_Each drabble was given a specific prompt or request, so I hope you guys just enjoy them all._

_Prompt: Write a letter fic addressed to Dumbledore using the prompt 'socks'._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1: Hand-knitted Socks<strong>

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

Happy Christmas, Professor. I hope the holidays have been treating you well. Thank you very much for the Christmas present. I must say I was rather... surprised by the gift - hand-knitted, knee-length socks with golden snitches zooming about. I didn't know you knitted, Professor.

Though they were very warm and soft, I have given to someone who appreciate them more than I would. I hope you do not mind. Dobby collects socks and loves to wear them, sometimes five pairs at once. One can never have enough socks, I guess. I'm sure he will put them to good use.

I will see you again when school restarts,

Harry

P.S. This part is from Dobby:

_Dobby is very thankful to Headmaster Dumbledore. You are so kind. These are my favourites. And they were given to me by Mr Harry Potter. Dobby is so happy._


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Cute little fic about Hagrid feeding the threstrals. RxR. FxF. _I do not own Harry Potter.__

Prompt: Write about Hagrid

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 2: Gentle Yet Misunderstood<strong>

The sun rose over the tall trees of the Forbidden Forest but Hagrid had already been out and about for an hour now. There was so much that had to be done as the Game Keeper of Hogwarts. He had already tended to the Blast-Ended Skrewts, the tips of his fingers already wrapped in burn-cream-soaked bandages. He had milked the flobberworms, some of their juices getting into his long fuzzy beard. He would take a shower after he was done with his morning chores. He had tilled his garden, the pumpkins still not big enough for the Halloween feast. But they had a month to go so he wasn't worried.

Now as he walked into the forest with the orange light spilling through the leaves, he smiled to himself. He liked this time of the day the most. The nocturnal animals were going to sleep and the others were just waking up. He was relatively safe now as long as he didn't stumble into anyone's home.

Fang bounded ahead of him, trampling some of the leaves that had fallen to the forest floor. "Git back 'er yeh mangy dog!" Hagrid called out but his words went unheeded as the boarhound leapt through the short shrubs. Hagrid chuckled to himself, shouldering his burden a little higher. That dog was always getting into trouble but he loved him, as he loved all animals.

There was just something about animals that brought joy to Hagrid's heart. Maybe it was because he was technically 'half-animal', though he never felt that way. But he did sympathize with the animals. They were feared because they were understood. No one ever tried to get to know the animals and they continued to ignore or hurt them because they could. But Hagrid took the time to learn their ways, to talk to him and to gain their trust. They loved Hagrid as much as he loved them. The burns on his fingers twinged a bit as his hand grazed the trunk of a gnarly tree. Maybe not those Blast-End Skrewts, but they hated everyone.

Fang barked when he saw his master enter the clearing and Hagrid let out a booming laugh to match. He threw his burden onto the ground. Placing his fingers into his mouth, ignoring the stinging, he let out a loud whistle. There was rustling in the bushes lining the edge of the clearing as Hagrid bent low into the bags he had brought.

The mysterious winged horses came close to him, the coppery smell of blood drawing them out of hiding. A few of them neighed, smelling the air about them, while others pawed the ground. Their black, leathery skin stretched-tightly over their emaciated forms as they threw their heads back.

Hagrid threw the large slabs of meat out towards the animals. They were such gentle creatures who moved in herd and looked out for their young. He watched as one of the mothers ripped a chunk of meat from the large slab to feed her foals.

Hagrid took a seat on an overturned log, the bag of meat still at his feet as he threw the pieces into the herd. There was a soft sound on his right and a small foal had gotten close to him. Such an inquisitive creature. He sniffed about Hagrid's hands and feet before realizing the lovely smell was coming from his bloody satchel.

Hagrid reached in a pulled out an aquedately sized chunk of meat and held it out to the baby threstral. The creature came forward, snatching the meat from his outstretched hand and dropping it onto the ground before eating it. Hagrid smiled and rubbed a large hand over the foal's body. Such gentle yet misunderstood creatures.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Quick drabble about Filch and his baldness. _RxR. FxF. _ I do not own Harry Potter._

_Prompt: Write about Filch with the prompt 'hairbrush' which I won._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3: Filch's Hair<strong>

Filch rooted through his dresser drawer in earnest while cursing under his breath. He had confiscated a student's fireworks and now they had gone off inside the drawer, which then set off another student's confiscated noisemaker. He had to find the blasted things or he wouldn't get any sleep tonight. Tomorrow was a big day and Madam, make that Headmistress Umbridge was about to make a big announcement pertaining to student punishment. Filch's face stretched into a wide grin at just the thought.

If only he could stop these things, and the erupting fireworks blown into his face were not helping the search at all. He pulls out loads of melted candy, broken quills and crumpled parchment, odd bits and pieces before stumbling on something he hadn't seen in years.

The activated tricks ignored for the moment, Filch pulled out a memento from his past. He held the item in front of his face, the blue colour of it only visible by the light of those blasted fireworks. His hand moved absent-mindedly across his scalp, his fingers running across the cool, rough skin underneath. The rest of his hair was plaited into a small braid down the back of his neck. He knew too that soon that braid would be non-existent just like the hair on his crown.

With a sad smile, Filch took the item and stuffed it down lower into this dresser drawer and out of sight, trying not to think of a time when he once used a hairbrush in the mornings.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: An owl decides to visit Crookshanks. RxR. FxF. _I do not own Harry Potter.__

_Prompt: Write a story that features a cat_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 4: Crookshanks and the Owl<strong>

Crookshanks napped lazily on Hermione's bed, his tail wagging slightly across her immaculately made bed. Hermione was off to classes for today leaving Crookshanks with a jam-packed schedule of snoozing, sleeping and resting. It was a lot to do for a half-kneazle and he was getting a jumpstart on it. He was as much of a workaholic as his owner.

There was a flutter nearby and Crookshanks opened a heavy eyelid slightly. One of Hermione's friends, the loud one who liked to scream when Crookshanks jumped on her bed instead, had left the window open this morning and there was a tiny brown owl sitting in the frame. The owl made a soft owl, hopping side to side on the metal window ledge and gave him an odd look. Crookshanks raised his and gave him one right back.

The owl jumped into the room and onto one of the girl's writing desk, his muddy feet leaving tracks all over their strewn parchment. Crookshanks meowed loudly hoping the bird would just leave. It was obvious he had come here just to cause trouble. There was no letter in his beak or note tied to his leg. The owl was just bored.

Crookshanks yawned and rested his head back on his paws. What the bird did was no concern of his and he was getting behind on his tasks. He closed his eyes and tried to resume his nap but then was startled by a loud set of thuds. The tiny owl was still among the girl's papers and he had caused a pile of books to tumble to the floor.

Crookshanks meowed again more agitatedly. This bird just didn't get the message. He flitted up to the canopy of Hermione's bed and peered down at Crookshanks from above. His wide eyes fixed on Crookshanks scrunched up ones, and he hooted dolefully. Crookshanks meowed again, warning the bird to get away from Hermione's bed. She was so strict when it came to her things and this bird had no business here.

Somehow that invited the bird to fly down and land on the bed right in front of Crookshanks' face. He jumped back, edging as far away on the bed from the owl as possible. He hissed at the bird but it just turned it head slightly, still trying to figure out what creature he was.

The bird hopped closer to Crookshanks, who hissed again as he backed up further and further from the approaching bird. Then Crookshanks fell off the bed. His claws extended as he tried to clutch onto something to stop his fall but all that succeeded in doing was ripping Hermione's sheets and pulling the curtains of her canopy on top of him on the floor.

Once he landed, Crookshanks scrambled out of the heavy, stifling ball of fabric. He glared up at the owl who continued to stare at him. Then the owl did the unthinkable, at least to Crookshanks: he jumped down and landed directly on Crookshanks' head.

Crookshanks raced around the room but the owl held firm, his talons nestled in Crookshanks' tangled fur. Crookshanks yowled in pain as he knocked into the bedframes, the girls' trunks, the desk, the other girls' curtains, in an effort to remove the bird. All around him, things crashed to the floor, some breaking and some just becoming more obstacles in the his path.

He was tired now and the bird still wouldn't leave. He pawed at his head but his arms were too short to do much. Crookshanks had all but given up now. But there was a high-pitched whistle from somewhere outside. The owl hooted gleefully before extricating himself from Crookshanks' fur and flying out the window.

Crookshanks was free of that horrible bird. He jumped back onto Hermione's bed and continued on napping.

A few hours passed and Hermione had come back to her room to pick up her forgotten Charms textbook. "How could I have forgotten it? I think I lent it to Parvati and she left it on the desk," she murmured to herself. She pushed open the door to their shared dormitory and hew jaw dropped at the warzone before her eyes. It was as if a twister had blown through, shredding the sheets and curtains, tossing papers about and breaking some of Lavender's bottles of overpowering perfume. And amidst the destruction was Crookshanks napping in the same position she had left him on her bed with numerous rips through her once immaculately made bed.

He opened his eyes slightly upon hearing the door open and realized it was Hermione. He took in her shocked expression and gave a soft, tired meow. **_Owl._**


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Harry becomes the third wheel during dinner with his best friends. RxR. FxF. _I do not own Harry Potter.__

_Prompt: Write a drabble about a third wheel._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 5: Screw Love<strong>

If Harry thought their fighting was horrible in Hogwarts, it was much worse now. Not that the actual fighting was worse. It was still the same level of annoyance and bickering. What was worse was the making up afterwards. Now that Ron and Hermione were a couple, instead of the pair stomping off away from each other in a huff as they would at Hogwarts, they would always ended their fights in some cutesy romantic gesture.

Since this last fight which just took place a few minutes ago, over Ron not drawing Hermione's chair out before taking his own, they were now rubbing noses as Hermione had forgiven Ron 'for how silly he had been.' Harry would have scoffed if he thought he could escape Hermione's wrath afterwards. If this had been just a year earlier, Ron would have probably ended up with mashed potatoes in his hair.

Why did he agree to go out to dinner with them? _**Because they're your best friends**_, the voice in his head stately obviously. He did love them. They were his dearest friends for eight years. He loved to spend time with them, but when you were 'single' and they weren't, it made hanging with them just a bit unbearable.

Harry sighed into his butterbeer, not that the couple noticed. It wasn't as if they were purposely doing this to him. They were in love and their relationship was fine, unlike his. He and Ginny had been rocky lately and were on one of their infamous 'breaks'. Now their fights didn't end in cutesy romantic gestures like Ron and Hermione's. Theirs often ended with a stinging cheeks (Harry's) and tear-stained ones (Ginny's), before they didn't speak for a few days.

He looked up from his mug, wanting to do anything, talk about anything to get his mind off Ginny. What he didn't expect was to see Ron and Hermione practically eating each others tonsils in the restaurant. Harry got up from the table, finally choosing to escape the over-amorous pair. He sat at the bar and ordered a glass of firewhiskey. Throwing it back, he thought glumly, **_Screw love_**.


End file.
